


Messin' With Sasquatch

by RollingPeaches



Series: Get Shot and Fuckin' Die [7]
Category: Sand Castle (2017)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Cussing, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Shit gets awkward, Swearing, and a little yelly, its valentines day, then shit really hits the fan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-19 07:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19970020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RollingPeaches/pseuds/RollingPeaches
Summary: Detective Lane continues taking risks, Syverson tries to handle his shit.





	1. Bang Head Here

Jasmine stared down at the box and laughed. Syverson was going to hate it, it was fucking perfect. Valentine’s Day was coming up. So, she’d gotten it in her head, to send Sy a Valentine’s Day care package. She’d planned in advance, got everything pre-Valentine’s Day, had everything ready to go so it would arrive at least _close_ to the actual day. She’d gotten an assortment of stuff. Though it was a struggle, most of the shit was intended for women, finding stuff that was more towards men was difficult. She found a Messin’ with Sasquatch heart with beef jerky inside the heart shaped box, fur running along the outside as well— _that_ really was perfect. She couldn’t send chocolate, that would melt. So, she settled on heart gummies and heart shaped SweeTarts. She also found a Deadpool pillow shaped like a heart, she figured he had to at least kinda like Deadpool. And threw in a stainless steel, matte black Death Wish Coffee to go cup. It was badass, she figured he’d like it. She padded the bottom of the box with paper, stuffed everything in. Then padded the crap out of it with, pink tissue paper, pink shredded paper, pink confetti, little puffy pillow hearts, which she glued to the inside of the flaps, oh, yeah, he would so totally hate her.

She addressed it, taped the crap out of it and went to the post office. As soon as she sent it though, she started doubting herself. What if she’d assumed too much? What if this wasn’t actually the direction they were going?

*****

“Lane, I swear to Christ, if you answer that!” Hughes bellowed over the gun fire. She ducked back down behind the car and answered.

“This is Lane,” her voice was breathy.

“There’s pink shit all over my office because of you,” Syverson’s voice bit out, but she could tell there was some amusement there.

“Hey, Sy,” she greeted, popping back up and shooting off a few more rounds, SWAT was moving into position, they were just laying down cover fire.

“You—are you in the middle of a shootout?” he asked.

“Well,” she squatted back down behind the car. “Not exactly in the _middle_ —”

“Fuck’s sake,” he growled out and hung up.

She blinked down at the phone, then pocketed it. SWAT was in position, she stayed ducked down and counted: one, two, three. On three, the sound of flash bangs and smoke grenades going off filled the air, then yelling and coughing, and their suspects crawled out windows and the front door to surrender. SWAT cleaning out the rest, zip tying and frisking them down with minimal effort.

A few hours later found her sitting at her desk filling out a boatload of paperwork. Her phone rang and she answered, she could make out background noise, voices, music, but no one spoke.

“I guess I should have included that ‘Bang Head Here for Stress Reduction’ sign huh?” she asked.

“What, the fuck, were you thinking?” he asked, voice low and quiet.

The little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, he was _pissed_. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t answer because it was you. It could have been anyone.”

Silence, then, “Why would that make me feel better?”

She shrugged, not that he could see it, “I don’t know. I think it would make me feel better, if our roles were reversed.”

“It doesn’t,” he grit out.

 _Welp_ , she tried. “Did you like the box?”

“We’re not talking about the box,” he growled.

“What’re we gonna talk about?”

“This wasn’t a calculated risk, Jasmine.”

“It was,” she replied calm and smooth.

“How?”

“It could have been the suspects calling to surrender.”

“And they have your personal cell number?”

“No, but if they call dispatch, they’ll patch them through to an officer on scene.”

“How many times has that happened?”

“Twice.”

“And that’s worth it to you?”

“Of course.”

“There’s no way that’s worth it, Jasmine.”

“Okay.”

“That’s completely reckless, there’s no thought behind it, you could get shot. You get that?”

“Yeah.” He was starting to calm down, and okay, maybe she was using some de-escalation techniques on him, but the man was scary when he was mad, even if there was an ocean between them. Even so, the man didn’t yell, his voice was low and growly, sure, but Syverson was just an Intense Dude™ to begin with. He breathed in, then out, then said, voice relatively normal, “You’re just agreeing with me so I’ll calm down.”

She shifted her gaze to the side, studied Reece, “Maybe.”

“Fuck,” he whispered out, then, “You shoulda kept the coffee travel mug for you.”

Death Wish was literally written on it. She hummed out noncommittally, brought her attention to the stack of paperwork in front of her.

“I’m sorry I lost my shit,” he said just as quietly.

If that was him losing his shit, she’d take it. “I was stabbed at my family reunion—on a scale of Satisfactory to Unacceptable, this was Satisfactory.”

A scoff of a laugh, then, “One of these days, you’re gonna tell me that story.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Thanks for my box.”

“Even if it got pink shit all over the place?”

A small chuckle, “Yeah.”

“I may have gone a little crazy on the candy, you can share it with the guys.”

“Fuck ‘em, they aren’t getting my candy.”

She grinned, “Or not.”

“The Deadpool pillow is awesome.”

“I didn’t make it,” she assured, “I found it online. I was starting to worry that it looked too much like Spiderman.”

“Nah,” he muttered, “It’s definitely Deadpool.”

“I didn’t know if you liked Deadpool or not…”

“I do, he’s funny and badass.”

“Noted.”

After a moment he sighed, then led with a unsettling, “Listen, I…” then he trailed off.

And _shit_. He was totally going to end this-this, whatever _this_ was. And she was a complete dumbass, and was reckless, and once again, scared the guy away, because she just can’t _not_ do reckless shit, and—“I’m coming up on a year and a half of deployment, they’ve set my return for mid April.”

 _Huh_?

“Uhm,” she mumbled.

“I didn’t want to tell you until it was set in stone, I mean, with the military, there’s no specific date that I’ll get back but a window.”

“Right, shortly is two hours, return of deployment is like, seven days,” she cut in.

“Give or take,” he muttered.

“What do you do when you’re not on deployment?” she asked.

“Home station assignment, basically, go to work at the military base. Do training, take classes, there’s the occasional mission, but those don’t usually last longer than a week.”

“So…this is good?”

“Fuck yes,” he breathed out.

“Where does Aika go?”

He scoffed a laugh, “She comes home with me.”

“Oh, good,” she nodded, that was good, doggies deserved down time too. They lapsed into silence, she didn’t know what to say, but she also had a very pertinent question, and just, well, biting the bullet was usually her thing, so, “Are we dating?” she blurted. “Or like, ya know, a relationship?”

“Yes, Lane,” his voice was laced with patience, “A relationship.”

“Did Reece tell you I’m relationship illiterate?” she asked, because he seemed strangely prepared.

“Something like that.”

“Are you sure? Because, most people don’t like the crazy of my job.”

“Figure you put up with the crazy that’s my job, I should be able to return the favor, for the most part.”

“That, seems fair.”

“Yeah, Lane, that seems fair.”

“So, we’ll just say, late April, for good measure.”

His lips quirked upwards into a grin, “That works.”

They talked a bit more. Then hung up. Jasmine set her phone down, then glanced around to make sure that no one could see, once it was determined that everyone was either engrossed in their paper work, or sleeping because of the paperwork, she did a little dance of excitement. _Yay_. Sy was coming back to the States, for longer than two weeks. They could actually _try_ this relationship thing. She picked up her pen and went back to her paperwork with an unnatural excitement for such a boring task. With everything looking up, though, it was only natural that everything would go to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, I mean there's no set date for his return. I felt like I implied his return date was seven days after Valentines day while saying he was coming back in mid April (totally doesn't add up). 
> 
> When my now ex boyfriend returned home from deployment they said between July 27th and August 2nd, and he didn't make it until August 6th because his plane broke down.
> 
> Also, the Valentine's day themed care package is pretty much what I sent my ex, plus or minus a few things.


	2. Why Would We Have Your Stupid Body?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Lane and Reece are investigating a call about a dead body. Things go sideways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way longer than I thought. The next few chapters were supposed to be one chapter, but it kinda got away from me.  
> Warning for gunshot wound, blood, and the angst surrounding someone being hospitalized for said gunshot wound.

Jasmine and Reece were at the apartment complex knocking on doors. They had received a call about a body, but upon arriving on scene, there was no body, just a small pool of blood, not enough to indicate that someone had died. Dispatch only knew the call came from within the building, nothing more. So, they and a few uni’s were knocking on doors.

Jasmine pounded gently on the door, not enough to sound threatening. She listened intently, head cocked, glanced back to Reece.

“Someone’s in there,” she noted, there was rustling, footsteps padding, then muffled voices, small, young voices.

Reece nodded, she knocked again, “Anyone home? It’s the police, we have a few questions.”

“It’s the police,” a voice snapped, “They’re strangers.” “It’s the _po-lice_.” Locks started clicking and rattling finally two pairs of big brown eyes stared back at them.

“Hey,” Jasmine greeted. “Someone reported something out back,” she informed.

“The body?” the boy, the youngest suggested.

“So you saw it?”

He nodded.

“Did you…happen to see where it went?”

The girl, taller, older than her brother wrinkled her nose, “What, like it walked away?”

Jasmine shrugged, offered a funny smile, “Wellll, funny you should mention that. The body’s gone. We’re goin’ ‘round to all the houses lookin’ for it.”

“Gross, why would we have your stupid body?” The girl demanded, opening the door further, showing that the boy had his arms behind his back, but he was careened back a little, he had something in his hands, something heavy. She felt Reece shift.

“What’re your names?” she asked.

“I’m Tyra, that’s Tyrell.”

Jasmine smiled, “Right. Tyra. Tyrell. You guys know, that if you find something like maybe a gun or knife, that we shouldn’t play with that right?”

Tyra nodded, then glanced to Tyrell, who’s eyes went as big as quarters. “Boy, I _told_ you,” Tyra shoved him on the shoulder.

“Tyra, don’t—”

But too late, big sister, reached behind Tyrell’s back and yanked his arm around, and then the percussive explosion rocked Lane back a step. Tyra’s eyes were wide and staring at her, Tyrell’s bottom lip puckered out, eyes welling with tears.

“Hey,” she tried, “it’s okay, just—” something didn’t feel right, something was wrong.

Jasmine blinked, then looked down, blood was blooming out of her shirt. “ _Shit_ ,” she’d been shot. “Fuck!” Reece barked, scrambling to grab her before she fell.

“I need a bus!” He yelled into his radio.

A uniformed officer came down the stairs taking them three at a time. Reece glanced at him, then the kids, “Tyrell,” he intoned low and calm, which he definitely was not feeling, “Tyrell, put the gun on the ground and step back.”

Tyrell didn’t do that. Tyra snapped her fingers in his face, “Do it, Ty, _now_.”

Tyrell did, then stepped back, so did Tyra, the uni stepped forward, and secured the weapon.

“You got it?” Reece demanded.

The uni nodded. “Lane?” the uni tried, “Lane?” Her breathing was wet and ragged sounding. The uni glanced to Reece and shook his head slightly.

“Fuck it,” Reece hefted her up, “Lane, stay the fuck with me,” he ordered, storming down the hallway. Through the radio he heard the uni relaying their location followed by, “Lower chest wound, unmarked police car driving officer to hospital, follow behind to clear the road.”

“Reece,” she murmured out.

He got her into the car, slammed the door and rounded the vehicle, sliding into the driver’s seat, he slammed the car into drive and peeled out, siren and lights blaring.

“Reece,” she tried again, his hand came out, brought hers to the wound, “Pressure, Lane,” he ordered.

“It,” she sputtered a little, “It was an accident,” she coughed, a little blood came up.

“I know.”

“Don’t let them ruin their lives.”

“I won’t.”

An ambulance appeared behind them, siren going, lights flashing. She tipped her chin down and examined the growing amount of blood. “S-Syver—Sy.”

“As soon as we get there,” he took a harsh turn, “I’ll call Hughes, he’ll call whoever the hell he knows. I promise, Lane.”

She coughed more blood.

“Lane.”

“Hmm,” she murmured out, body jerking slightly.

“Lane.” Reece prompted, “Lane!”

Her eyes closed, hands went slack, the vibrant blood trickling from her mouth a stark contrast against her pale skin.

“Lane! Fuck!” He took another harsh turn, “Better have a fucking surgical team waiting, _goddamnit_!”

He was dragging her out of the car within another ninety seconds. The paramedics jumped out of the ambulance, gurney rolling towards them. He backed away and they loaded her up, the twenty feet to the hospital, one paramedic already on top of her, slicing up her shirt, and splaying it open to reveal the wound. Fuck, _fuck_. It was too close, it was too close to her heart or her lungs. He followed after them, doctors and nurses scrambled out, barking orders and demanding answers.

“Single gunshot wound to the chest,” the paramedic on top of her informed. “Entrance and exit wound,” the paramedic lifted Jasmine’s torso to check. “Weak pulse, she isn’t breathing.”

A nurse applied pressure to the wound, the paramedic pressed an oxygen mask to Jasmine’s face, started pumping an oxygen bag, and then they were moving, rolling away through doors, Reece tried to follow but was immediately stopped at the door.

“Let them do their job, Detective,” a stern nurse ordered.

He turned paced up the length of the hall, then back down, hands wrapped around the back of his head and he squatted down in silent agony. After thirty seconds, he stood, and pulled out his cell, calling Hughes.

“Status?” Hughes barked, Reece could make out sirens, he was already on his way to the hospital then.

“Just took her back, she wasn’t breathing, pulse was weak.”

“Shit.”

“She said Syverson’s name.”

Silence, “Fuck. I’ll make some calls.”

They hung up.

*****

Hughes dialed the airbase, the one where they had landed when they went to Iraq, he got through to Lieutenant Brown. “I need to get a message to Captain Syverson.”

“Won’t be a convoy up for a week, but we can deliver it.”

“Now, it’s an emergency.”

Silence. “What could a civilian officer have to report to a Captain in the military of import?”

“Jasmine—Detective Lane was shot. He needs to know.”

“Of course Syverson would hit that,” Brown muttered.

“She’s dying, you fuck,” Hughes countered.

Silence. “Hold on.”

Hughes could make out Brown barking out an order, then him speaking on what had to be another phone.

“I need to speak with Captain Syverson.” Pause. “It’s an emergency. Shit, right.”

Then he was back speaking to Hughes, “No can do, Hughes, Syverson is on a mission, comms are dark unless absolutely necessary.”

“This is absolutely fucking necessary.”

“She isn’t his wife. It isn’t necessary in the eyes of the military. Sorry, Hughes,” then he hung up.

Hughes yelled, no words, just an angry, animalistic shout, hands strangling the steering wheel of his car. He pulled into the hospital and sat for a moment breathing ragged, then got out and searched out Reece in the waiting room.

“Any word?” Hughes asked.

“Nothing. Syverson?”

“Couldn’t get through at the airbase.” He paused, “I’m gonna try someone else.” He turned and walked away.

He got her voicemail, he hung up and tried again, and again, and again.

“Captain Hughes, generally, when one doesn’t answer the phone, you leave a message and—”

“I need you to make contact with Captain Syverson at Camp Warhorse,” he cut her off, which generally, was never a good idea.

Silence, then calm and icy, “Excuse me?”

“He and Detective Lane are in a relationship.”

“Okay, that’s lovely, I’m glad for them—”

“She was shot, she’s dying.”

A sharp inhale of breath, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great, thanks,” he moved to hang up.

“Captain Hughes,” she called, he brought the phone back up, “I’m sorry, about your Detective, I’ll do what I can.”

“Right,” he hung up.

*****

“Captain Syverson,” Maddox’s voice cut through the comms.

“Go.”

“Senator Alice Bardot is on the line.”

He blinked, “Go ahead.”

“Captain Syverson,” the woman’s voice broke through.

“Ma’am.”

“I understand your mission was a success.”

“Affirmative, Ma’am.”

“There’s a plane waiting for you at the Airbase, ready for your arrival.”

What the fuck?

“Ma’am?”

“I have unfortunate news regarding your Detective Lane.”

His gaze hardened on the darkness outside the windshield.

“Currently, she’s critical at General Hospital. I, unfortunately, don’t have any additional information. But the sooner you arrive at the base the better.” 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The worry in his gut had slowly turned to anger, by the time he made it to the base, three hours later, and was on his way stateside, it had festered into something nasty. He should have ended this thing when she started having issues with the cartel/not-cartel, she was reckless, took unnecessary risks, _stupid_. He was gonna get there, and if she fucking survived, this was over, they were done.

He jolted, forced himself into stillness, to fucking _breathe_. He knew who she was, knew she was a cop, knew she was familiar with danger on a day to day basis. He knew all of that, even enjoyed that she was on that line of crazy. He had just played it off, because his job was more dangerous, his job was riskier, he had convinced himself, that she wasn’t capable of actually getting hurt, despite her maverick tendencies. It was just, for once, he was on the other end of things, the worried significant other, not the injured party or the one coming back from danger. Fuck. He put his elbows to his knees, head in his hands.

He wasn’t going to end this. If she came out of this alive, he was not ending it, he was scared, that was all, it wasn’t fair to Lane, she’d been honest about who she was. Not to mention, there was no way he was going to be the dick who ended things while she’s in a hospital bed, just because he got a little scared. His mind made up, he sat up, now all she had to do was live.


	3. That Good, Huh?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Syverson makes it stateside.

Reece was back to pacing in the waiting room. Alexis and Samantha had arrived an hour and a half ago along with Grouch and about half of the precinct. They’d started donating blood as quickly as possible, those who were universal donors and a direct match—and had already worked their shift. Another hour passed and Birdy strode in looking furious. Reece stood and held up his hands placatingly.

“Bird, it was an accident.”

“An accident,” the other man ground out. “How?”

“It was kids. Five-year-old had the gun, his big sister startled him, it was an accident. Nobody did anything wrong.”

Birdy looked like he had a few scathing things to say to him, but he kept his lid on it, and didn’t lash out, yet. “What’s the word?” he asked instead.

Reece shook his head, “No word.”

Birdy’s head canted to the side, then he nodded once, and found a wall to hold up. Another hour passed, and finally, _finally_ , someone in scrubs padded out.

“Lane?” Everyone stood, the doctor’s eyes widened. “Right. Uhm. Immediate family?”

Reece and Hughes stepped forward.

“We’ve got her stabilized, but, she’s still critical. She hasn’t regained consciousness from the procedure. The bullet penetrated the lung, we’ve inserted a chest tube to drain blood and air. It passed through the body and clipped a rib; we’ve removed the fragments, and sutured all bleeds.”

“Can we see her?”

The doctor glanced around them to eye the crowded waiting room. “She’s in ICU. Two at a time at most, no more than five visitors.”

Reece and Hughes shared a look, but nodded. They thanked the doctor, then turned and delivered the news to the others. Most hung around for another thirty minutes to an hour before they started trickling away. Hughes went in first with Samantha, once they came out, Samantha looking pale and brows pinched inwards, Reece knew it wasn’t good. He and Alexis went in and he couldn’t hold himself up, he crumpled at her bed, forehead pressing into the covers next to her hand.

“C’mon,” Alexis murmured, “C’mon, baby,” soft hands combing down his back. He managed to pull it together, breath catching in his throat in spaced staccatos.

“She’s gonna make it, Reece,” Alexis assured.

“We don’t know that.”

“I know it. She’s the most stubborn, tenacious woman we know. She’s gonna be fine.”

He nodded. They stayed for a few more minutes, then headed back to the waiting room. “I’m gonna stay here,” Reece informed. “You should go back to the house.”

She eyed him a moment, then nodded slightly, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

With the news that she was stable, most had cleared out. Reece laid down in the chairs, and tried to sleep. He woke to a nurse nudging his shoulder. “Cafeteria’s open, get yourself some coffee.”

*****

Syverson stepped off the plane, to brisk air, that he hadn’t felt in over a year, it even smelled like snow. He glanced around, he hadn’t thought to ask questions, like, how the hell do I get to the hospital? It wasn’t like he even had his wallet to pay for a ride.

“Captain Syverson?” a voice called, he glanced to the right to see a uniformed police officer striding towards him, “Captain Hughes is waiting,” he gestured towards a car. He went that way, the officer opened the door for him, and he slanted into the vehicle, “Captain Syverson,” Hughes greeted him.

“Hughes,” he greeted as they shook hands, the car pulling away.

“She’s stabilized,” Hughes didn’t wait around to give an update, “Critical, but stable.”

Syverson felt his chest concave slightly with the rush of relief he felt, he couldn’t let himself feel that though, not while she was still critical, not when he hadn’t even seen her yet. “What happened?”

“Call about a body. They went to the scene, no body. Caller was from within the apartment building, didn’t know which though, they were knocking on doors. Sounds like a little boy had found a gun, big sister tried to get him to turn it over, pushed him,” Hughes shrugged. “It was an accident.”

_Fuck_. First Shaw getting stabbed by a kid, now Jasmine getting shot, fuck’s sake.

“You need food or anything?” Hughes asked.

He did, but that would wait until after. He shook his head and they made their way to the hospital in relative silence. He followed Hughes into the hospital, and glanced around, there was a small group in the waiting room, definitely cops, he didn’t pause to meet any of them, Hughes continued forward, Syverson on his heels. They went through double doors, then down a hallway, forked a left, and he spotted Reece leaning back into the wall across from a room. The other man shoved off the wall and started towards him.

“Syverson,” he greeted, but it wasn’t a greeting, not really, it was pleading. Syverson recognized it for what it was, a cry for absolution.

“It was an accident,” he stated.

“Yeah.”

“Then we’ll leave it at that, Reece.”

Reece blinked, then some of the tension eased from his shoulders. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah.”

“This her?” he asked.

“Yeah, let me,” he wrapped on the door lightly. “Alexis and Sam are in there.”

After a moment the door creaked open and Alexis appeared, “Sy’s here,” Reece informed. Alexis stepped out and turned to face him, “I’m Alexis, Reece is my husband,” she informed, holding out a perfectly manicured hand.

“Ma’am,” he nodded, hesitating before extending his hand, it wasn’t the cleanest, dirt and sand, rough calluses. She smiled, “No worries,” she shook his hand, then stepped to the side and Samantha stepped out, eyes bloodshot, nose a little rosy.

“Have you met Sammy?” Alexis asked.

“You work at the precinct,” he noted. Samantha nodded, giving him a critical once over before shaking his hand. On a good day, he could care less if someone approved of him, today, his ability to give a fuck was in the negatives.

“She looks better than she did yesterday,” Alexis noted, starting down the hall, “We’ll get you a coffee, black with cream?” she asked.

He nodded, half wondering if she was some coffee savant who knew everyone’s order or if Jasmine had told her. He paused at the door, then opened it and stepped in. He inhaled slowly, _Christ_ she looked tiny and frail. So pale she was almost gray. Fuck. He turned away, head bowed staring at his boots. She wasn’t supposed to look like that. She was supposed to look like the last time he’d seen her, in person, at the Jonah guys café. An extra pep in her step because she’d gotten her warrant, eyes lit up and sparkling, lips a little swollen because he’d just kissed them that way. That was how she was supposed to look, not like some-some half dead corpse on a bed, with tubes and wires running all over.

He breathed in slowly, then turned back, braced for what he’d see. He stepped closer, then paused. Shit, maybe he should have taken a shower, was he gonna give her an infection from sitting next to her? Could he touch her? He glanced around, spotted the adjacent bathroom, and tucked in to scrub his hands and all the way up his arms. Then he scrubbed his face, even over his short hair. He patted himself dry with a few paper towels, then crossed back to her and sat in the chair next to the bed. He should talk, right? That’s what people always did. He didn’t think he could get his voice to come out though, at least, not without it shaking like a baby.

“I’ve been assured that you didn’t do anything stupid,” he finally managed to blurt out after a few minutes. “I was on a mission, your favorite Senator had to call me. Guess you can’t hate her that much now…” Maybe she could, Lane was that level of spiteful. He reached out, put her limp hand over top his own. “You’re gonna wake up,” he murmured, he wasn’t sure if it was an order or a plea.

He fell into another silence, watching and listening to her machines monitoring her vitals. He heard the door open, but didn’t turn to see who it was. A gentle hand landed on his shoulder, “Coffee,” Alexis’ voice informed, “And a sandwich.” He glanced to her and reached up, taking the offered items from her hand. She sat down next to him.

“Thanks,” he muttered, setting the coffee on the small table and unwrapping the sandwich.

“She’s gonna be fine, Captain Syverson,” she stated, voice calm and soothing. He wasn’t sure how she knew, but he’d take whatever comfort she was willing to give.

“You can call me Sy.”

She smiled, perfectly straight white teeth. “Reece says he doesn’t know how you two met, said it was classified.”

Sy nodded around a bite of sandwich, “It is.”

She arched a brow, “When will it be unclassified?” she asked, “Because I want to hear that story.”

He shrugged. Alexis stayed with him for a good part of three hours, before Reece stuck his head in, “Hey,” he greeted. Sy angled back to look at him.

“I don’t know where you’re planning on staying. Hotel, you could stay with us, got Jasmine’s things, you could stay at her place.”

Honestly, he wanted to stay at Jasmine’s, but that felt invasive since he’d never been to or in her place before. His gaze shifted to Jasmine, then back to Reece, “Yeah, her place,” he nodded. Reece handed over her keys and wallet, “’m supposed to hand over her badge and gun to, Cap,” he muttered, shifting the badge from her wallet.

“Just let me know when you’re good to go.”

He glanced at Jasmine again, as if she was aware he was contemplating leaving her side.

“No offense, dude,” Reece countered, “But ya smell, you need a shower, pig-pen.”

“Don’t be rude, Reece,” Alexis countered.

“It’s the truth, a’int it?”

“Boy, get out,” she threw a balled-up piece of paper at him. Reece grinned, then ducked out. Syverson could see why Jasmine got along with them, they were the same level of crazy. 

“Doctors said it’s neither good nor bad that she hasn’t woken up. Shit takes time,” Alexis informed, standing up.

“C’mon, you’ll feel better after a shower. This way, she may actually recognize you when she wakes up.”

“This is how she’d recognize me,” he murmured, standing and gathering his trash. Alexis arched an inquiring brow, but he didn’t fall for it. With one last glance towards Jasmine, he closed the door behind him.

Reece and Alexis dropped him off at Jasmine’s place, with a warning, “If Humphrey shows up, make sure you give him a piece of lunch meat.”

“Humphrey?”

“The neighbor’s cat, he has a smooshed face and snorts a bunch. He’s constantly running out the door and over here,” Alexis filled in.

“Right,” he grunted.

“Hughes is swinging by later.”

Syverson nodded and Reece and Alexis headed out. He closed the door, threw the lock, and turned to complete silence. He grabbed the TV remote and turned it on, just for background noise, then made his way to the bathroom, turned on the taps, shed his clothes, and stepped under the spray. It’d been a while since he’d had a shower, not often allowing himself to use the one attached to his quarters back at the camp. He inspected her toiletries. Two face washes, two shampoos, one conditioner, and a body wash. They were mostly nondescript in scent, light, not overpowering. He washed his face first, then his hair and beard. Then moved to washing his body, which he did twice. Then he just stood under the water and enjoyed it. The water started to run cold, and he climbed out, grabbing up a towel and drying off. Her counter top had varying lotions and skincare products. He picked up one, it smelled like candy, he scoffed, given her sweet tooth, that made sense, the other had no scent whatsoever. And the other products he didn’t know what the hell they were AHA/BHA serums, and oils, he had no clue. He used some of the lotion though. Then with the towel wrapped around his hips, went in search of clean clothes. After a bit of searching, he found his sweatshirt she’d stolen as well as the t-shirt he’d sent her, too bad he hadn’t sent her a pair of his pants. He found what looked like might be a pair of men’s sweatpants, and stuffed his legs into them. They fit well enough, maybe a little long, and a little too tight, but better than putting his grungy, repulsive pants back on.

He found her laundry room and threw his clothes in the washer. Then went in search of food, because the little sandwich Alexis had brought him wasn’t near enough food. He hadn’t known what to expect. While at Warhorse, it seemed like half the time, she forgot to eat or didn’t. So why he was expecting her to have _actual_ food in her fridge he didn’t know. She had some yogurt. Some lunch meat. Condiments. Bagels. And that was about it. He glanced around, opened her pantry. She had a large amount of canned foods. He closed the door, turned, spotted a fruit bowl, which the fruit was surprisingly _not_ rotten. He grabbed an apple and chomped into it, scanning around the kitchen. He opened a cabinet to see she had an extensive mug collection. He remembered her buying one at the arts fest and spotted it on the bottom shelf.

He made his way back into the living room. She had a big cozy couch and a few chairs. She had a large collection of movies, most action and a few dramas. Her book shelf was packed full of all sorts of books. Fantasy, mystery, historical drama, true crime, forensic and crime scene manuals. He turned, spotted a few candles placed throughout the room, as well as a few picture frames, and a lot of soft blankets, including the one he had sent her. He took another bite of his apple, made his way back into her bedroom. There was an entire drawer missing from her dresser, the one that the rats had been in he was sure. He found himself wondering if the crime scene techs had taken the whole drawer or if she had gotten rid of it. The notion felt absurd, but, it seemed very _her_. Her laptop was resting on the bedside table and off in the corner she had a gun safe. And that was about it.

He finished his apple, made his way back into the kitchen, he was set on trying to make something with her minimal offerings, when there was a knock at the door. He made it over and opened it revealing Hughes. He stepped back and let him enter and Hughes took in his attire.

“I brought clothes from one of the SWAT guys, should be a better fit than,” he glanced down, to scan over the sweats and his bare feet. “That.”

“’Ppreciate it.”

He leaned out of the house and came back with a six pack of beer and a bag of groceries.

“She doesn’t usually keep a lot of food in the house.”

No shit.

Syverson went and changed, came back out and Hughes was already making food. Syverson leaned into the door frame and asked, “What happens for Lane after this?”

Hughes glanced over to him, then shrugged, “Recupe, come back to work, get back into it.”

That was it.

“Obviously, everything’s covered by the department. This is, of course, assuming she _wants_ to come back, that’s always an option, when this happens.” Hughes glanced to him, and they both had the same thought, there’s no fucking away she walks. No way. No matter how much either of them would rather it, she would go back to work.

They had finished eating, were drinking the beers that Hughes had brought when Syverson asked into the silence, “Were you fucking the Senator when she sent you two to Iraq, or was that her getting even after you dumped her ass?”

Hughes paused, then brought his beer up to his lips, swallowed and stated, “You’ve been spending too much time with Lane.”

Syverson’s lips turned upwards the smallest amount.

“We were _arguing_ when she sent us to Iraq, I didn’t dump her until after,” he shrugged, then muttered a little self-deprecatingly, “Though it seems we’re back on again.”

“We going back to the hospital?” Hughes asked him, and he nodded.

*****

Syverson wasn’t exactly sure when he was supposed to return to Iraq, but as he was sitting watching her unmoving body, he was beginning to think that he would be gone by the time she showed signs of life. It was coming up on ten at night, the nurses had taken pity on him and let him stay, said he could even sleep in the room with her. The chairs, it turned out, pulled out into little individual beds. His feet were still firmly planted on the floor, but it was better than nothing. He propped his chair as close to her bed as possible, hand in hers, and fell asleep, his head cranking awkwardly to the side. He’d slept in far worse conditions, this was nothing.

Around three, his head lifted, he wasn’t sure what had woken him, his eyes were starting to droop closed when he felt it again. Tapping on his hand, he jerked his head to the right, and he saw big brown eyes staring back at him.

“Hi,” she said, but it came out a husky squeak.

“Fuck,” he stated.

She blinked, then mused, “I look that good, huh?” Her lips pulling upwards in a tiny grin.

She looked like shit, death warmed over, but she was awake, her eyes were open, she was talking, her fingers were moving. She was fucking gorgeous.

“You look fucking gorgeous,” he told her.

Her grin turned a little sardonic. She went to speak, no doubt to sass him, but instead a cough came out, she tried to swallow, but couldn’t her mouth was way too dry. 

“Water?” she asked.

He glanced around, as much as they were hoping for her to wake up, they hadn’t really prepared for it. He found a stack of small cups, filled one, and returned to her side, holding it carefully to her lips, she took tiny, tiny sips.

“I should probably call for the nurse.”

“Mm,” she said in the negative, her hand lifting from his to wave in the air then drop down to his hand again. He took that to mean ‘no’, and waited. She took a few more tiny sips.

“What’re you doing here?” she managed out.

“Your favorite senator pulled some strings.”

She blinked, then her nose wrinkled in disdain. “What’s the verdict?”

“You were shot,” he stated.

She nodded, “Guess I was due, it’s been awhile since I’ve been shot or stabbed.”

He stared.

“Iraq doesn’t count,” she waved her hand dismissively, then dropped it back down, “That was a cut.”

“Bullet hit your lung, went through, chipped a rib. They got the bone fragments out. Patched you up. You have a chest tube,” he pointed to her side. She dipped her chin and looked down.

“Awesome,” she dropped her head back to the pillows, he realized she didn’t have the energy, to hold her head up. He pressed the button for the nurse.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he informed.

She hummed noncommittally, threaded her fingers through his. Seeing as she was in the ICU the nurse popped up pretty quickly.

“Someone’s awake,” the woman noted, striding in, she started recording things in Lane’s chart and asking a few questions.

“Everything keeps progressing, we should have most of these tubes off by tomorrow afternoon, well,” she glanced to the clock, “this afternoon.”

“Fantastic,” she mumbled, eyes drooping.

The nurse sent Syverson a wink, and after a moment, Lane was asleep again. “She’s gonna do a lot of that,” the nurse informed, starting for the door, “Give a shout if you need anything.”

Syverson leaned forward, pressed his forehead to the bed, eyes stinging slightly, he closed them tight, he wasn’t exactly a praying man, but all he could think was _thank god_.


	4. But...that place sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Lane really wants Captain Syverson to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what's frustrating? Crying while writing. I am literally in charge of this train wreck, I decide where it's going, and I still cried.
> 
> warning for Lane's filter being seriously depleted due to pain killers

The next morning, Syverson woke up to Lane running her hand through his buzzcut hair. “It’s longer?” she asked. He blinked slowly, trying to fully bring himself to consciousness. “Yeah,” he muttered, sitting up, “Maybe a little. Buzz it every few weeks,” he informed, rubbing a hand over the top of his head.

She mumbled something, he couldn’t make out what, and then she was asleep again. A few minutes later Reece appeared, holding coffee and food.

“She’s woken up,” Syverson informed.

Reece nearly tripped over the chair leg.

“You just missed her.”

Reece slouched into the other chair and sagged with relief, “Thank, fuck,” he muttered, then took a sip of coffee.

That afternoon, she woke up again, and they removed the tube. He stood off to the side, by the bathroom door. She was either too drugged to feel much or she was too tired to sass anyone about the pain. Either way, it was eerie, watching her go through that without her usual badmouthing of everyone. After careful monitoring for the first ten minutes or so, the nurses and doctors left with instructions to call them if anything worsened.

Lane didn’t say much, just held his hand as soon as he reclaimed his spot next to her, at one point dragging his hand up towards her cheek and closing her eyes. Which was fucking cute, his lips turned upwards and he reached out, combed his free hand through her hair.

“You awake, Lane?” he asked quietly, she hummed, didn’t open her eyes though. “Figure you’re pretty drugged.”

“Am not!” she protested in a tired voice, eyes opening, flashing his way. “’m sober,” she stated, though it would have been more convincing had she kept her eyes open a little longer and managed to not slur.

His lips turned upwards, “Right,” he muttered.

“You stole my sweatshirt,” she accused, he’d warn it to the hospital.

“Technically, it’s mine, you stole it from me.”

“No take-backsies.”

He scoffed a laugh, “I’ll leave it here, I promise.”

More grumbling, that he couldn’t make out, then a quiet sigh, “I’m glad you’re here, Sy.”

He waited, it seemed like she had more to say, but she trailed off, so he filled the silence, “Wish you hadn’t gotten shot.”

She rolled her head his way, letting his hand drop from her face, and reached up to his face, near his eyes, “Sometimes,” she murmured, “Your eyes go all wonky,” she informed, he blinked, wonky? Like, they crossed or something?

“And I can’t tell if you like me even a little bit,” her hand dropped.

He stared at her, “I like you, Lane.”

“Sure?” she asked.

He stood, leaning low, lips brushing against her own, beard prickling her as he kissed her.

“Positive,” he stated against her lips.

She breathed out, tried to press up for more than just a light kiss, but he pulled back, and she honest to god, mewled—it was definitely the drugs, no way Lane would allow that to happen if she was fully aware.

“Probably not a good idea,” he tried to soften the rejection, he couldn’t quite hide the smile spreading across his lips.

She blinked at him blankly, “what?” she asked, seemingly already forgotten. 

“Nothing, you thirsty?”

She nodded and he got her her cup of water, she took two sips and promptly fell asleep again.

A few hours later found Hughes knocking on the door and stepping in. “Reece said she’s woken up?”

Syverson nodded, “They took the chest tube out.”

“Bardot called. Said your plane leaves tomorrow two pm.”

Syverson clenched his jaw and nodded, returning was an inevitability, he knew that, especially with his deployment coming to an end, there was a lot to do.

“What about when she’s discharged?”

Hughes nodded, “Samantha volunteered, she’s gonna move in until Lane can get around on her own. Or rather, to make sure that Lane doesn’t start moving around before she should.”

Syverson thought that over.

“Trust me,” Hughes muttered, “If there’s anyone who can out sass Lane, it’s Samantha. She’ll stay on her not to overdo it.”

It wasn’t like Syverson had much to argue against, it’s not like he could volunteer. “Right. Thank you,” he added.

Hughes nodded, gaze on Lane.

“What’s happening with the kids?” Syverson asked, mainly because there wasn’t much else to talk about.

Hughes grunted, “Reece swears up and down, there was no malicious intent and that Lane doesn’t want anything to happen to the kids.” He shrugged, “No charges or anything, we’ve referred them to some counseling services. Should be alright.”

“Where were the parents?”

“Mom was downstairs doing the laundry. Told the kids not to open the door to strangers, but also tells the kids to listen to the police.”

Right.

*****

That night, Syverson went back to Jasmine’s, slept in her giant bed with twenty pillows. After everything he’d been sleeping on for the past year and a half, it was too soft, then again, everything save the floor would be too soft. But it smelled like her, and that’s what he wanted, so he managed.

He woke and dressed in his fresh uniform, grabbed the sweatshirt she had stolen from him, as well as her keys to her place, locked up and joined Reece in the car out front. 

“You leaving today?” Reece asked, pulling away from the curb, a critical glance over his uniform.

“Yeah.”

“Bummer,” he muttered out.

“How reckless is Jasmine in the field?” he blurted, he didn’t know why.

“Man, it was an accident,” Reece immediately started to defend Lane.

“No, I know, but, usually.”

Reece sighed, “Listen, first day on the job together. After six months with Birdy in SWAT, two years on sex crimes with this one guy, what was his name? Ripper, Righter, Riker. Somethin’. Anyways, first day on the job together, we’re comin’ out of this shitty, shitty apartment, this gangbanger’s got this teenager against a car.” He pauses to check both ways, then turned, “We have one patrol car as backup, the entire street is full of gang affiliates, she climbs the fucking guy like a tree, throws him to the ground using her _thighs_.”

He stops at a red light, and turns, “Now, I always have my partner’s back, _always_ , but I was so fucking dumbfounded by the fact that she wrapped her legs around this dude and threw him to the ground, I didn’t realize that the entire street was staring at us.”

The light changes, he starts driving again, “She slaps the cuffs on him, I’m still standing there drooling like an idiot. She fucking skips through the crowd no problem, doesn’t faze her a bit. Shoves him in the car, we drive away, I basically piss myself.”

He pulls into the hospital lot, “Good news is, she doesn’t do that shit so much anymore.”

So much anymore. That was reassuring.

“Bad news is, I’m pretty sure she’s shaved a good ten years off my life.”

Syverson nodded, suddenly very glad Lane hadn’t been sent to Camp Warhorse two years ago, he would have had a shit hemorrhage.

They made it up to her hospital room and she was actually sitting up, a tray of food in front of her, brown eyes a little glossy looking turned their way and she grinned.

“Hey guys!” she called, then she really took in Syverson, “Wow,” she mumbled, “You’re like _really_ attractive,” she informed.

Reece cackled, “Shit, girl, they got you on the good shit.”

“Goodbye, Reece,” she dismissed her partner, who left with another laugh. Syverson started further into the room, he held up the sweatshirt, “Brought this back for you.”

She smiled and grabbed it with both hands pulling it into her chest and hugging it. “It’s perfect,” she stated, and he didn’t really know what she meant, it was a sweatshirt, but if it made her face light up the way it was, so be it. She looked back up at him, “Have I told you, you’re against the laws of nature?”

“Yeah, I think you have,” he nodded, right side of his mouth quirking upwards in a smirk. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and went a little fuzzy. He bent down, pressed his lips to hers, and then pulled back and sat in his chair.

“What’d’ya got to eat?” he asked.

“Oh,” she turned her gaze away to observe her food. “Jello. Yogurt. Some…stuff,” she trailed off then reached out and picked something up, “Granola!” she stated proudly.

He suppressed a grin and asked, “Are you going to eat any of it?”

“I was trying to get my fingers to work,” she informed, putting the granola down and reaching for the Jello. He reached out and took it from her, peeled the lid back, and handed it back to her. She picked up her spoon and dug in, “I wish they gave me blue,” she mumbled, “blue’s the best.”

Apparently, her preferences for blue went beyond Kool-Aid.

“I have to leave around one,” he informed.

She blinked turning to face him, “What?”

He tilted his head slightly, “Gotta go back to Baqubah.”

“But…that place sucks.”

Yeah it did.

“It’s where I’m stationed though, remember?”

She pouted slightly, which was cute as hell on her, then she went back to her Jello, “Right,” she nodded, though he wasn’t one hundred percent certain she actually remembered.

He turned the TV on, they watched Law and Order SVU reruns. She finishing her Jello and turned to her yogurt, fumbled a bit, but managed to open it on her own, she couldn’t get the granola though, he opened it, and she tapped it into the yogurt, took a big spoonful and stuffed it into her mouth, then grimaced, “Mmmow,” she mumbled through chipmunk cheeks. She chewed slowly and swallowed, then flicked the granola chunks out, “Too hard.”

After eating she fell asleep, woke back up a few hours later, face brightening the same way it had when he first walked in.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hey,” he greeted back, threading his fingers through hers, “They brought you lunch.”

“I just ate,” she mumbled, sleepily.

“Mashed potatoes and gravy,” he tried to coax.

“Okay, that sounds kinda good,” she scooched up to sitting and nibbled her way through the mashed potatoes.

She was finishing the cup of apple sauce when Hughes stepped into the room.

“Hughes,” she greeted, holding up Sy’s sweatshirt, “Sy-syver…son,” she gave up trying to say his whole last name, “Sy brought me his hoodie, it’s soft.”

“I’m sure it is, Lane,” Hughes smiled indulgently down at her. He glanced to Sy and tilted his head towards the door and taped his wrist, Syverson nodded and Hughes stepped out.

“I gotta go, Lane,” he bit the bullet.

Her jaw set, the sparkle in her eyes went out.

“Can I come?” she asked.

“You hate Baqubah, besides, you gotta get better here, yeah?”

“Why? You’re leaving me.”

“Because I’m coming back in two months, right?” he reminded her, “Gotta get healthy for that.”

Her eyes perked up a little, she’d forgotten that he was coming back, he wouldn’t hold that against her, apparently, they were pumping her full of drugs.

“I guess,” she agreed grudgingly.

“When they let you out, Samantha’s gonna be staying with you.”

“Like a slumber party?” she asked all earnest and excited.

“Yeah, Lane, like a slumber party.”

“Awesome,” she whispered, then, “I was thinking about getting a dog.”

He blinked at the conversation change, “Why’s that?”

“I love dogs. You have a dog. I like your dog.”

“Maybe hold off on the dog decision for a few months,” he suggested, running a hand over her hair.

“Why?”

“They have a lot of energy, you might pop a stitch.”

“Oh,” she nodded, “Yeah, okay.”

He leaned down, pressed his lips to hers, she brought her hand up, grabbed the side of his neck and pulled him closer.

“Who’s gonna watch my back?” she asked, pulling back slowly, lips brushing against his as she spoke.

“You got a whole waiting room of people watching your back, Lane.”

“They aren’t you.”

And damnit, that fucking struck a chord, nearly pulled his heart right out of his chest, her pitiful little plea. He closed his eyes, breathed in slowly, then pressed another kiss to her lips and stood upright.

“I’ll be back in two months,” he promised. “I’ll call, we might get to video call some too.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Right,” he nodded, then started for the door. He turned back and said, “Do as your told, Mz. Lane.”

She smiled, her brow arching slightly, and then he was gone.

*****

On the plane ride back, Sy sat, elbows to knees, hands pressed against his forehead, he shifted, hands to his eyes and rubbed, then he sat up, back pressed against the wall of the plane, grounding himself. Two months. He could do two months.


End file.
